Raine: The Lords of Satyr (18 page)

Returning her smile, he allowed the dark enjoyment of Moonful to fully overtake him again. To drag him into a carnal vortex where he could see to his needs and focus only on his pleasure and hers. The plump knob that tipped his engorged penis slid home, deep into the welcoming wetness of her.

T
he next morning, for the first time in all his twenty-seven years, Raine awoke with a woman in his bed. A woman who, for the good of this world, was destined to be his wife whether she wished to be or not.

Fortunately for him, this soon-to-be wife seemed comfortable right where she was at the moment—tucked against him. His hand was between her legs now, idly toying in her slickness. A copious slickness for which his cock was responsible.

The Calling had tethered them last night, more thoroughly than a hundred matings on nights when the moon was only a sliver could have. The bond between them would grow stronger over time, with future matings under future full moons.

Next to him Jordan slept on, as women always did after a Calling. There was a pale bruise on her neck. He raised the cover and found several more on her breasts. Last night his control had slipped its leash. He’d been unable to stop himself from taking her time after time. It had been good. Sweet, pure pleasure. Now that his body had tasted hers during Moonful, he would not be able to stay away.

Frustration at himself—at his lack of control—rose up in him.

A soft hand curved his hip.

“I love you,” Jordan murmured. Her eyes were dreamy, her skin warm and flushed from sleep.

He stiffened and rolled from his bed.

“No,” he informed her, jerking on a shirt. “You don’t.”

“I don’t?” she asked. Raising on one elbow, she patted his pillow and tried to tease him into a better humor. “Why don’t you come back to bed and let me persuade you otherwise.”

He’d like nothing better. Her slit wasn’t chafed or ill used, he knew. The Seeker had intermittently seen to her comfort. Even after last night’s sequential debauchery, he could still have her again now without hurting her. His cock hardened at the thought.

But his jaw hardened as well. “I have work to do. The vines need—”

“They can wait a bit, can’t they?” She leaned forward so her nipples peeked above the coverlet.

He yanked his trousers on. “Sleep. You must be tired.”

She lay back, yawned, and stretched her arms high above her head. “Yes. Aren’t you?”

“The Satyr are invigorated after a Calling night. Our female victims have the opposite reaction.”

That implacable cloak of control was back. However, now Jordan knew more of what lay beneath it. Raine’s passions had completely overwhelmed his self-imposed restraint last night. And she’d loved it. Loved him. But she sensed he would only withdraw further if she persisted in trying to hold him here this morning.

She yawned again, gazing at him with black, knowing eyes. “No matter what you believe, I was not your victim last night. And I do love you, you know.”

“You learned more of what I am last night,” he said, ramming his shirttails into the waist of his trousers. “But you don’t know me. You don’t even know yourself.”

“What is so terrible that it would change my feelings about you?”

Muscles bunched in his chest where his shirt hung open and a tendon flexed along the side of his neck. He took a shuddering breath as he surveyed her, seeming on the verge of shattering into a thousand pieces.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Raine, what’s wrong?”

Spying the dress he’d removed from her last night lying on the floor, he snatched it up as though to offer it to her. His expression turned appalled as he obviously only then recalled how he’d ruined it last night. Throwing it to the floor, he stalked into her room. She heard him open her armoire. When he returned, he tossed a fresh dress, shoes, and a wrap to her.

“Get dressed and come with me,” he said. “I’ll show you what it is you think you love.”

After putting on his boots, he stood over her, more impatient than she’d ever seen him. Once she complied with his instruction, he hustled her through the house, out into the rear garden, and beyond.

The light of dawn was a hazy pink, filtered through the canopy of hawthorns. Ahead, a cool breeze swept the pale morning sun across a grassy meadow turned amber by morning’s frost.

Raine held her wrist, pulling her along as though expecting she would try to escape. But she followed willingly, wanting to know what it was that he would reveal of himself.

He drew her onward, through the crunch of autumn and under the forest’s skirts where purple phlox and red clover grew wild. Small hillocks of flowering faerie thyme clung here and there. The air smelled of dew and damp morning.

Now and then, he lifted her over a lichened stone wall, or a trickling brook, or held olive branches aside for her to pass. She still savored these small courtesies from him and was almost glad when they encountered such obstacles along their way.

In moments, they passed through a series of acanthus-wreathed Corinthian columns and entered a large, circular clearing. Raine pulled her to the center of it, where he abruptly halted. He stood behind her, fingers biting into her upper arms. “Here. Look around you.”

In brittle silence, he waited for her to take in her surroundings. She did as he asked, gazing slowly from left to right, absorbing everything. Why had he brought her here? What was it he wished her to see?

Altars dotted the glen like gleaming white tables at a wedding feast, waiting for guests to arrive. Around the outer edge of the clearing, pale statues rose larger than life, forming a ring. There were dozens of them, each fine in detail and craft. They were beautiful. Salacious. And strangely familiar.

Sudden recognition shivered over her spine.

She stepped from him and spun in a slow circle, her gaze moving over one statue, then the next and the next and the next. Those at the far end of the clearing were less easy to make out.

Nervously, she hugged herself, surveying the ground around her feet. “Are there snakes here?”

“Snakes?” He looked at her as though she were speaking in a foreign tongue. “No. Why in the world do you ask?”

She shrugged, embarrassed.

As though sleepwalking, she went to stand before one of the statues. It was a particularly appealing one, of a nymph. Scantily clad in only the barest veil, the creature smiled from her perch, beckoning all who came to join her in sensual revelry.

Jordan stepped closer. Her hand slid over the sparkling granite of a pristine foot clad in a delicate sandal.

“What is this place?” she breathed in awed tones.

“A place for rutting.” Raine’s voice was cold, clipped. “A place where the pagan rituals of my ancestors have been reenacted time and time again, throughout the centuries. A place where my brothers and I gather once a month at Moonful. Where our bodies change in ways that make us as much beast as man. Where I am driven to fuck myself senseless from dusk to dawn.”

Just as he had last night. With her.

She glanced at him. “You must hate that. Losing control.”

He waved toward the statues, his expression tortured. “Look upon them. The drunken Silenus, Pan with his pipes, the half-naked maenads. Drunken revelry, deviant behavior. This is what I come from. What I am.”

He wanted to shock her, she realized.

“If you are to turn away from me,” he told her, “away from your own beginnings, then do so now. Do not prolong this pretence of love.”

“My own beginnings?”

“We—you and I—come from a place called ElseWorld.” He threw the words at her like stones, hoping to bruise her. To test her. “Magic is thick there like fog and commonplace. Every sort of fantastic creature dwells there.”

She read the truth of what he said in his face. “Are there more there, made like me?

He nodded.

“And are they accepted there?”

“They’re revered, kept in harems of the richest and most powerful of men and beast.”

“So they’re not free.”

“No, not free.” He turned away.

He’d shared his secrets with her—these secrets that made him what he was. Her what she was. She would confide in him as well.

“I’ve been here before,” she told him.

He swung around, shocked. “What did you say?”

She was silent, loath to tell him more.

He made a gesture that encompassed the entire glen. “My brothers and I have erected a forcewall around this area. No one can enter without our expressly allowing it.”

“I tell you I’ve been here before. I’ll prove it.” She closed her eyes. Without looking, she began to name the statues in order, even the ones whose features were too distant to discern. “There’s Bacchus, the wine god. There are four nymphs at his feet. Next there are the bearded fornicators—four of them with their phalluses embedded in females. And then there are the two maenads, both fawning over one of the Satyr. And Priapus is there—”

Raine took her elbows, and she opened her eyes to find him staring intently down at her. “How did you see them?”

“In my dreams, years ago when I turned thirteen. Back then I thought they were ice sculptures. But I see now that they’re stone. It was exactly like this in my dream.” She pointed toward the distant edge of the glen. “Except Nick and Jane were standing over there, at the far end, though of course I didn’t know who they were then.”

She drew up, her expression turning to one of surprise. “Look. There they are now.”

Sure enough, Nick and Jane had appeared at the far end of the glen, holding hands. Seeing Raine and Jordan, they came to join them. Jordan couldn’t help but notice how rumpled both of them were. Jane’s hair was askew and her dress was grass stained. Had they passed the night together, here in the glen as Raine had earlier described?

Jane shot her an embarrassed look, then spoke softly to Nick. “I’ll continue to the house and tidy up.”

But Nick sensed the tension in the air and kept her hand in his. “No, stay for the moment.” He put an arm around her, tucking her to him so he supported her weight.

Nodding, she snuggled against him and covered a yawn with her hand.

Seeing it, Jordan couldn’t help but yawn, too.

The two women grinned at one another in private amusement, each accurately gauging the reason the other was so weary.

“What is it?” Nick demanded of his brother.

“Jordan tells me she’s been dreaming. Having nightmares,” Raine told him baldly.

Nick shrugged. “And?”

“The dreams began at age
thirteen,
” Raine added pointedly.

Nick’s interest keened.

“So?” asked Jordan. “What’s the significance of that?”

“It’s the age of change,” said Nick. He looked down at his dozing wife, gently petting her hair as he held her to his side. “Jane came into her ElseWorld powers at thirteen as well.”

ElseWorld powers? Jordan hugged herself, suddenly wishing Raine would hold her close, too. But in his concern, he was all business.

“Tell us,” he instructed.

Jordan squared her shoulders, preparing to reveal more of her deepest secrets. “Well, the first nightmare I can really remember came on the eve of my thirteenth birthday. But that’s not unusual. Birthdays have never been pleasant occasions for me. The dreams I have then are rarely good ones.”

Jane forced her eyes open. So she hadn’t been truly asleep after all. “What happened in that first dream? Can you remember?” she asked kindly.

Jordan spread her hands, looking around the glen. “I saw this place. The statues frightened me then. They seemed so prurient. I’ve dreamed of them now and then over the last six years.”

“And what of your other dreams?” asked Nick.

“Most dreams come to me as a series of three unrelated events. They’re often too puzzling to interpret at first. But they hint at things that actually do occur at a later time. For instance, when I met Raine, I was drawn to him because of the ribbons he carried. I’d dreamed of them. Dreamed that they offered—” Since Raine had repudiated her love, she was wary of reiterating it in front of his brother. “—something good,” she finished lamely.

“Just before I came here, another such series of dreams began,” she went on, the words tumbling out. “The first of them was fulfilled in Venice.” She broke off, then rushed on, trying to avoid the memory of the dove and the shocking sight of her dead mother. “The second was about blue stockings, and then I wound up in a vat of grapes at the harvest festival, resulting in blue feet. Which is somewhat the same as blue stockings if you think about it. Now, only the third vision of the dream sequence remains unfulfilled. Once it occurs, I’ll no doubt dream up an entirely new trio.”

“Describe this third vision,” Raine prompted.

She glanced around and her voice grew hushed, full of memories. “I’m drawn to a park—this very one. It’s darker though. Night. There are white pillars, statues, and altars like the ones here.”

“Go on,” said Nick.

“There’s also a snake here somewhere. I don’t want to go to it. It wants to give me something. A gift. Whatever it is, I don’t want it. Still, the snake keeps pulling me closer. If I accept its gift, I’ll have to open a gate of some sort and let them inside. Don’t ask me who ‘them’ are because I don’t know.”

“How does the snake in your dream appear to you? What does it look like?” asked Raine.

Jordan raised and dropped her shoulders in a shrugging gesture. “Like a snake. Writhing, flicking tongue. Beady eyes. Snakey.”

“Are there any particular markings on its scales?” asked Nick.

“It doesn’t have scales, now that you mention it. It’s smooth,” she said. “Black. What do you suppose it all means?”

“You’re obviously a receptor,” said Jane, blinking sleepily. “Few possess such an ElseWorld talent.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Curse, more like. And what’s a receptor?”

Over her head Raine and Nick exchanged a potent glance.

“She’d be highly prized by Feydon’s offspring,” said Nick. “And not just so that they can gain a foothold in EarthWorld.”

“Will someone tell me what you’re talking about?”

Raine considered her a moment. “Do you resemble your father?” he asked.

Jordan tugged at one of her shoulder-length black curls, wondering warily where this might be leading. “Not especially. I never met him, but I’ve seen his portrait. I favor my mother.”

“That’s because the man you believe fathered you was in fact not the father of your blood,” Raine told her bluntly. “You mother gave you Human blood. But you also have the blood of Faerie in your veins, lent to you by your true-blood father, a king from a world that adjoins this one.”